


Murdersville

by hoars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awesome Everyone, Criminals in Costume, Dark Comedy, Derek Being Creepy, F/M, Humor, M/M, Poorly Placed and Built Prisons, Revenge, Scooby Doo Fusion, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:19:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoars/pseuds/hoars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when you’re a teenager growing up in a town plagued by criminals from the nearby maximum security prison, the only thing to do is get involved in the middle of it.</p>
<p>Stiles likes to maintain that last part was purely accidental. He didn't <em>mean</em> to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murdersville

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know.

"We're going to die." Scott moans.

"Dude, we live in Beacon Hills. The town with the highest crime rate in the country." Stiles says. "Of course we're going to die young." 

"Gragh!" Scott smacks his head against his desk. "You don't have to sound so cheerful about our impending doom."

"Well," Stiles says. "I'm a virgin and the sheriff's son. My chances of living are actually pretty high. I'll be traumatized for years and spend thousands on therapy, but I'll be alive. Which I can't say for other teenagers in this stupid town."

"Point." Scott pauses in his head thunking. "As your friend, I live too, right?"

"Duh." Stiles says. "We're misfits. Misfits and losers always live."

"Hey! That's true!" Scott says, perking up.

"Don't you feel better about being on second string and that girls won't look at us twice?" Stiles asks.  
  
"Actually, yeah." Scott smiles. 

The first bell rings, indicating the start of first period. Harris looks up from where he'd been reading his email and glares. "Great. You're all here." He sounds long suffering and Stiles is positive everyday Harris hopes they die horribly.

"Any chance Harris is one of those freaks that dresses up in a costume to terrorize the town?"

"Because most of you morons showed up today, we'll be having a pop quiz." Harris announces.

"Definitely." Scott nods.

 They surprisingly survive the chemistry pop quiz and make it to lunch unscathed. The lunch room, as always, is unsettlingly empty. Either because the cafeteria was too big, everyone ate outside or off campus, or because high school students were regularly murdered. It was anyone's guess.

 "Dude!" Stiles elbows Scott in the ribs -- "Ow! You ass!" Scott hisses and rubs the spot. -- "Shut up! Don't be a baby! Look over there! With Lydia!"

 "Is that a new girl?" Scott asks, awed.

 "I think so." Stiles nods.

The table Stiles is referring to is where the popular kids deign to eat lunch. Lydia Martin in all her glory, wearing a purple dress and crocheted green scarf. Stiles doesn't remember a day Lydia Martin did not wear purple. Purple was her trademark. No one else wore the color out of fear of maybe wearing it better. A real fear considering Molly in middle school did once and the day after got kidnapped by a witch coven. No one could prove anything, but Lydia smiled at everyone she passed in the hall the next day. Something she never did. (Stiles would know.) Jackson Whittemore sits immediately to her right, always, wearing his signature designer jeans, sunglasses and pale green button up shirt and lilac sweater vest. There were rumors Lydia dressed him and since they always color coordinate, Stiles believes them. Jackson wore a lot of pink and purple for a straight man in control of his closet. To Jackson's right is Danny Mahealani. The only kid to ever be arrested for not dressing up as a freakshow to enact sweet revenge. No. Danny was arrested for computer crimes. Maybe because his two best friends were always dressed so colorfully, Danny stuck to a simple white shirt and blue jeans. All year. Unless he was cold and then he wore a simple black jacket.

The rest of their entourage normally wasn't important. Simply lacrosse guys, guys and girls wanting to impress the three and hang oners no one really knew the names of. 

But today there was a girl in an oversized orange knitted sweater and red leggings and cherry leather boots. Her hair was long and loosely curled, a bow in her hair. She was smiling, honestly smiling and not smirking like the other three, and Stiles could feel his heart a melt a tiny bit.

A glance at a slack jawed Scott proves he isn't the only one impressed by the new girl. "Hey, buddy. You feeling okay?" Stiles asks worried when it doesn't appear Scott is breathing.

"Oh god." Scott gasps. "She's gorgeous!"

Scott's eyes sparkle. His brown eyes wide, his cheeks red and hair crazy. Stiles has never seen his best friend so smitten. Except for that siren girl in freshmen year but everyone drooled over her. Stiles is frightened for a moment that Scott's going to melt into his plain white hoodie. Maybe even into his blue tee shirt like a Scott puddle of goo.

Stiles is positive Scott would have spent the rest of high school sighing and pining after her. Thankfully, Scott has a bro in Stiles. And that Stiles is naturally clumsy and force of chaos. All Stiles intended to do was stand up to throw his trash away, but he gets tangled in their backpacks and fumbles and crashes to the floor, earning him every eye in the room. There's silence before someone laughs and is joined by others. Scott, because he's amazing sauce, helps him up and says loudly, "Wow! You were right! I didn't think you could do it!"

"Awe, buddy, you're the best." Stiles whispers to Scott. "Don't look, but the new girl is totally smiling at you right now."

Stiles watches in amusement while Scott manfully tries to resist looking, but Stiles can see the second Scott can't stand it anymore and cranes his neck to look.

The new girl is totally checking Scott out.

_And_ she smiles when Scott catches her.

"I think I'm going to marry her." Scott tells Stiles hushed.

The new girl walks towards them, leaving teen royalty behind her and like they've been sucking on lemons.

"I think you might be right." Stiles says back. "Get her name!"

Stiles drops down the floor, pretending to tie his shoes. Scott tugs on the back of his shirt, "Get up, get up. She's coming this way. What do I say?" Stiles doesn't get a chance to coach his friend because the new girl stops in front of Scott and yeah, Stiles really likes her boots. Which makes him worry that Scott stretched out his awesomely green plaid shirt. The brown shirt underneath he doesn't care about as much but Stiles only owns four other green plaid shirts (all very impressive shades if Stiles does say so himself), he doesn’t want to have to go the mall to look for new one.

Even if everyone else call him an eyesore. Whatever. Stiles is awesome and he knows it.

"Hi." The new girl says, tucking a hair behind her ear. "I'm Allison."

"Scott. My name." Scott says flustered. Stiles nudges Scott's knee with his shoulder. "Right, my name is Scott. Hi, Allison."

Allison giggles and Stiles smiles like a dork at his knee because yeah, she sounds awesome and if anyone deserves a girl that giggles and smiles, it’s Scott. Stiles listens to the exchange from the floor, grinning so hard when Allison punches her number into Scott's phone. 

"Text me sometime." She tells Scott.

"Yeah. I definitely will." Scott promises grinning like a dope.

Stiles feels a pat on the head. "It's nice to meet you too, Stiles."

Stiles looks up and waves up at her. "It's nice to meet you too!"

She smiles brightly at him. Stiles and Scott watch her leave.

"God, I hope she doesn't get kidnap by The Goblins." Scott says wistfully.

"Think anyone's given her the Beacon Hills, Safety and You pamphlet yet?" Stiles asks critically.

With the sweet, Scott and Stiles learned, always comes the sour. They'd been six years old when they learned that life lesson.

To be fair, they were tempting fate stomping through the woods looking for the inhaler a bitchy Jackson threw when lacrosse practice ended. "Why does she like _you_ , McCall?"

"Because he's not a d-bag!" Stiles shouted back in defense of his best friend.

Which leads to them being in the perverse past sunset. A big no-no in surviving in Beacon Hills. Like it was up there with having sex in your car in a secluded area and wandering around in a bikini without a cover up.

"Do you hear something?" Scott asks, stopping in place.

"You don't think it's the Wendigo, do you?" Stiles asks. "My dad has reports of him being around again."

"It sounds smaller than that." Scott shakes his head. "Besides, wasn't he arrested in August?"

"Eh. There's a copy cat." Stiles shrugs. "I guess more than one guy was pissed at the glamorous of B.H."

"When they have kids like Jackson I can't see why." Scott says dirtily.

Stiles is on his hands and knees, coming through leaves, rocks and dirt because logically he knows Scott inhaler must be around here, but tell that to logic. They've searched this area twice now. Scott searching a little further away. Stiles can still hear Scott rustling around, but faintly.

"Dude! I think you need to give it up as a lost cause!" Stiles finally shouts. "It's already nine and we missed curfew! We are now officially tempting fate! We are pushing our luck!"

Silence answers him.

An eerie silence his dad has warned him about more than he ever warned him about stranger danger or the bad touch. "One day, Stiles, you won't hear anything. No wind. No birds. No crickets. It will be absolutely silent. Stiles, when that happens, run. Run and don't look back."

"Oh shit." Stiles breathes and begins running towards the school where his Jeep is still parked.

Two seconds later, Stiles hears a roar. The kind that rattles bones and jolts panic into hearts. He speeds his legs, willing them to work faster. One wonderful thing about Beacon Hills? The track and cross country team always made it to state finals and more than one Olympic track star started humbly in Beacon Hills. He prays he won't trip as he hears whatever it is pounding after him.

He's sure he's going to die. He can hear it breathing, nearly panting down his neck when Scott begins shouting.

"Get away from him! I'm tasty too! Get to the Jeep, Stiles!"

Scott will go down in the hall of bros.

But not before he dies surrounded by his seven great-grandchildren.

The monster leaves Stiles to hunt a suddenly delicious Scott, leaving Stiles unmolested and undead to open his Jeep and start it.

(It was a hot debate at every town meeting whether leaving your car unlocked or locked was better. On the one hand, there was no fiddling with keys to open the door. It saved precious time, especially if you have clumsy fingers and drop them and lose them forever. However, leaving the door unlocked allowed murders and other unsavory sorts to lay down in the back sit to kill you as you're driving away. Or, y'know, you forget your keys in the house or other pants but don't noticed until you're already trapped in the car. Like Stiles said, it was a hot debate. Thankfully his dad was the sheriff (the longest surviving one by two years) and knew the statistics better than most. Which is why Stiles has his driver's license at sixteen and knows how to hot wire his Jeep in case of an emergency. Like now.)

The engine starts the first time and Stiles immediately opens his passenger door and begins driving towards where he thinks Scott is, following the roars. He starts honking to let Scott know he's close.

Dread is building in his stomach and Stiles worries his best friend is dead and being eaten by a cannibal or whatever when Scott runs in front of the Jeep. The headlights do nothing to hide the blood staining his white sleeve and his face is scare and dirty, but it's an alive face and Stiles will take what he can get.

"Get in!"

As soon as Scot has a footing and hand hold on the Jeep, Stiles begins driving away.

Beacon Hills is a beautiful place.

Vey touristy. It’s an hour away from a big city, surrounded by nature. A suburb really. A very self sustaining one. People loved Beacon Hills and has been featured in several magazines. The problem with Beacon Hills was the surplus of criminal activity.

The humble sheriff's department that was the only law enforcement in the area were actually SWAT trained and frequently went to training seminars held by military special forces. It was standard for the sheriff and his handpicked deputies to wear Kevlar and carry high artillery weapons. Tear gas, batons, extra clips were a necessity. The people of Beacon Hills were arguably well protected.

But they still had an arms dealer living close by for life sustaining reasons.

Everyone claimed Beacon Hills used to be a different place before the built the prison.

The extremely shitty prison that must have toddlers securing it because of the number of break outs.

It was like their own Arkham Asylum. Inmates checked out whenever they got bored enough and went to the closet town to pour their frustrations on.

I.E., Beacon Hills.

What Stiles whole heartedly believed that despite the costumes and sometimes supernatural elements of the villains and criminals had, they were human.

Right now, Stiles wants to go back in time and slap himself in the face for being so naive. The world with werewolves in it suddenly made a shit ton more sense. Because if there was werewolves, why not kraken and gremlins? It was stupid not to think troublemaking supernatural bedtime stories were helping the convicts escape.

"Stiles, wasn't there a bite mark on my arm?" Scott asks calmly.

They both stare at the arm that used to look like somebody's prechewed dinner and was now tan-gold and healing in pink lines.

"Wasn't last night a full moon?" Stiles counters.

They both look at each other in dumb, stunned disbelief.

"Werewolves aren't real?" Scott says, possibly questioning realty.

"No. Of course not." Stiles agrees in the same tone. "But just in case-"

"Just in case!" Scott hastily agrees.

"I'm going to get my knife."

"Stiles!"

"What? It'll just be a little cut! Just to see if it heals! If it doesn't well, oops. If it does, I think we'll have bigger things to worry about than me mutilating my best friend!" Stiles' eye twitches. His fingers also twitch and begin shaking so hard Scott is reminded of a nervous chihuahua.

"Maybe I should do it?" Scott asks.

Stiles considers his trembling hands and nods in agreement. "That's probably best if you don't want me to accidentally cut anyone's fingers off."

He retrieves the knife he keeps between the bed and mattress. He hasn't been attacked in his sleep, but two out of five of his classmates will be kidnapped from their beds before graduation. His dad refused to allow Stiles to become a statistic and made sure Stiles knew how to handle the knife.

It was a simple black balisong knife. More commonly known as a butterfly knife. The blade was sharp and thin and would never do major damage unless Stiles aimed for a throat, vein or eye. But that wasn't why he had it. He had it to get away and run, not as a last stand.

Grabbing the knife, Stiles opens it quickly. It clinking as metal hit metal as it opens. He hands the knife to Scott hilt first and Scott grabs it gingerly. Stiles smiles slightly at Scott's expression. The kid was acting like the balisong was going to jump and bite his face any second.

Hesitantly, sharing one last look, Scott carefully drags the knife across his forearm. They both watch with baited breath as the thin line of red does nothing but bleed.

"Oh thank god." Scott sighs in relief. "I must have imagined the bite earlier."

"Or it takes your new super powers a few seconds to start." Stiles observes.

Scott drops the knife in surprise -- "Hey! Careful! You'll blunt it!" -- and stares at the blood smeared on his arm but no actual scratch.

"Oh my god."

"Holy shit!"

Yeah. Stiles would really like to beat the shit out of whoever said all the crime in Beacon Hills was simply human activity.

"Boys! You okay?" Dad yells up the stairs.

"Yeah!" Stiles shouts back. "Scott's just a werewolf now! That's all!"

"Okay!" Dad shouts back. "Try not to get shot like the last "werewolf.""

Silence settles back around them.

"Wasn’t the last werewolf an eco-terrorist?" Scott asks, still staring at his arm.

"Yeah."

"Huh.” Scott pauses, both of them staring at their arms. “I don't wanna be a terrorist."

The next day of school was bizarre and simple. Yeah. Scott needed Stiles to hold him back and hiss, "Oh my god calm the fuck down your eyes are yellow," and help him through his fugue state when he kept getting distracted by all the sounds, smells, new HD sight and sensitive skin. What was weird was how Scott sighed in bliss when Allison walked by and smiled.

"She must be werewolf Prozac." Stiles figures.

"She smells amazing." Scott says dreamily. "God, she's perfect."

"A little creepy." Stiles points out. "Boundaries, dude. You just learned her name. Baby steps."

"Yeah." Scott agrees.

And promptly disregards everything when he sees her at lacrosse practice and loses his slight control on his wolf powers. He's doing flips and shit and knocks Jackson on his back. Stiles is torn between whooping and cackling at Jackson and burying his face in his hands. Subtle Scott is not.

And the party he foolishly agrees to go to.

Stiles isn't torn whatsoever this time. 

High school parties were a breeding ground for more than sex, drugs and alcohol. Murder also rampaged wildly at these parties. People like Lydia and Jackson threw the parties to tempt fate. Stiles likened it to playing with the Ouija board in the presence of the Necronomicon opened on top of a pentagram made of blood.

And bird bones.

On top of ancient Indian burial grounds.

Wait.

What Stiles is trying to say is high school parties are stupid and no one should go to them unless everyone attending is like Stiles or it's a D&D party. The D&D guys are always safe. They hadn’t had a causality in a decade.

Stiles goes to make sure Scott doesn't go cannibal on people's asses or hurt Allison in any way. Stiles is an awesome best friend that way.

Which is why he's a little confused why Scott sacrifices him to Derek Hale's mercy.

"He's a werewolf." Scott hissed. "Go distract him while I take Allison home! Let me see your keys."

Stiles doesn't stumble into Derek Hale. He's pushed. And ow. Scott would have been kinder pushing him into a brick wall. "Jesus! Ow! Sorry dude."

Derek steadies Stiles firmly by the elbow. Fingers tight and too warm even through Stiles' long sleeve. Stiles' face bounces against Derek's chest again before he can gain his balance. It's a conflicting experience. One, oh my god ow his face. But two, how cut does a guy have to be to feel like that? Stiles wants to see the guy shirtless for research purposes.

"Your friend isn't." Derek says.

And that's displeasing. With a pretty face like that, Stiles was expecting a different tone besides curt and aggressive. But Stiles supposed having that freak Silver Artemis or whoever burn his house down, murdering his eight members of his family, would do that to a guy. Silver Artemis had been pretty big six years ago for burning houses in the woods down.

And public indecency.

Someone needed to tell that lady skin tight silver leather left nothing to the imagination.

"He's in a hurry." Stiles says, trying to match Derek's tone.

"If he's not careful, he'll hurt her." Derek glares.

Strange. Stiles would say they're the same height and yet Derek is somehow towering over him. Stiles needs to study Derek's everything. He’s defying laws of the universe. And possibly genetics. Stiles is a curious guy, okay?

"Scott isn't an abusive boyfriend." Stiles protests.

Derek aggressively moves into Stiles' space and sniffs. "Werewolf. Don't play stupid with me."

"Uh oh." Stiles says. Suddenly seeing Derek Hale in a new light. "Is Scott your minion now?"

"What?" Derek moves back to give Stiles a look. "No."

"Oh. That's good. I was hoping you'd be more of the hero type with your face and tragic background. Like Riddick. Or Spike. Even if you look more like an Angel."

"What are you talking about?" Derek asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Anti-hero. Y'know? Oh! Batman!" Stiles rambles.

"Just. Stop talking." Derek's face twitches. "I'm going to take you home. I think you might be drunk."

"Hey, no, I'm not!"

"You don't smell like it, but I'm doubting my senses right now." Derek says. "Then you're going to invite your friend over or what the fuck ever, so I can find out why he's a werewolf."

"And teach him?" Stiles bargains.

"If I have to."

"Right!" Stiles says mock cheery. "Then I guess I'm taking you home. How do you feel about Skype? I have this rule where I don't introduce potential murders to my best bud. Especially the werewolf variety."

The ensuing week is certainly _exciting_.

Scott and Derek do not get along.

Stiles packs Scott a lunch and drops him off at the ruins of the Hale house deep in the preserve.

Stiles has Saturday plans that included his computer and possibly his Xbox. He hasn’t decided yet for sure. He doesn’t expect Scott to call him before he’s even within town limits again. Or for Derek to yank the phone from Scott and demand Stiles come back.

Which is why on Sunday Stiles sits on the warm hood of his Jeep to watch the werewolf-fu lesson.

He doesn't know why he's there. Derek scowls and directs Scott as tersely as a human being is possible of. Uh. Werewolf is possible of? This was a little confusing. Stiles didn't want accidentally come off speciest. Scott, at this point, is willfully misunderstanding. Why, Stiles isn't sure. But he can tell because Scott doesn't mess up the same way twice. Ever. For some reason he's intent on irritating Derek. It was a lot like watching a five year old bother his ten year old brother because the little brother is a sadist. Maybe Stiles should remind Scott Derek is capable of chewing both their faces off and getting away with it? Especially since they’re all alone in the woods with the guy and no one freakin’ knows.

Next time, Stiles will definitely be telling people where he’s going and who he’ll be with.

Just in case.

Wait.

That makes Stiles the mother in that analogy. Stiles doesn't want to be a sixteen year old mom.

"Scott, stop it." Stiles says mildly. "Derek, use more than ten words to explain your point."

Scott shoots him a look of betrayal not seen since the days of Julius Caesar and Brutus. Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. A very deep breath. Maybe Derek meditates?

"Right." Derek says. "Scott," Stiles hears 'stupid' in place of Scott's name. Thank god the subtle tones of voice usually escaped Scott. "You have to keep your heart down. When your adrenaline pumps your body will instinctively changed because it thinks you're in danger." Derek opens his eyes and gives Stiles a pained glance. "You need to have a way to find your inner calm."

"So I just need do the opposite of what I do when I pop an inappropriate boner?" Scott asks, face thoughtful.

"I can't do this." Derek mutters.

Stiles sniggers. "Something like that. Just think happy thoughts when you're turning furry." Putting his serious face on, Stiles continues. "I think once you can feel the difference between normal-Scott and werewolf-Scott you won't need to focus on the smell of Allison's shampoo."

"Allison?" Derek asks. "You made you anchor your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend!"

"Not for a lack of trying." Stiles coughs.

"What's an anchor?"

Derek sighs heavily. "I did nothing to deserve this."

The werewolf lessons go pretty smoothly.

When Scott throws a diva fit about lacrosse, Derek is forced to every practice and game. Masquerading as Scott's cousin Derek from his dad's side. Or something. Stiles didn't help clear up the issue by changing the story once a day just to see Derek twitch. God knows what Coach thought. Probably that dad finally found a keeper for Stiles maybe.

What Stiles is trying to say is even with the introduction of werewolves to the criminal capital of the world, life is easy and sort of normal.

And then Silver Artemis returns and the Alpha starts killing people.

"I'm just going to say it. This all started when Derek showed." Scott says. "I'm not saying he's Silver Artemis because she has a rack, but the Alpha he keeps talking about? That could totally be him."

Stiles considers it. Derek was the only werewolf either of them knew. He was the one that told them there was another werewolf. All their werewolf facts were confirmed by Derek. Who was to say Derek fibbed a little when he said he was just beta? What if he was an alpha werewolf in hiding?

"I think you're right." Stiles nods. "So he's not off the suspect list until he either dies or we see him and the alpha in one place."

"Good." Scott says in relief. "Does this mean you'll stop with the creepy crush?"

Stiles thinks about it. "Yeah. Probably not. I think this might make him slightly more attractive."

"You have problems." Scott says totally judging. Does Stiles judge Scott budding interspecies romance with Allison? Of course not! Scott was being little short minded here. Love knows no bounds like morals or laws!

"I said slightly!"

Of course when they tell Derek he's at the top of their murdering residents list, he just nods. "That's actually smart. I'm impressed."

"You have trust issues." Stiles says a little disturbed.

"So you did do it!" Scott exclaims.

Stiles sighs and Derek's eyebrows draw together in annoyance.

"Never mind." Derek says.

"You think it's Derek just because you don't like him. Don't you?" Stiles says.

"Well," Scott hedges.

"Oh my god."

Silver Artemis is a woman dress in silver leather with a silver bow. She has dirty blonde hair that trails after as she runs. There's a few clips of her on YouTube and a picture from an ATM. She's not really interesting. Her acts of arson killed eight people six years ago, but since then Beacon Hills has had three school "hauntings", the discovery of four mass graves and a serial burglar. Just seeing her prance around town is kind of boring.

Then she shoots Derek with a wolfsbane arrow.

"Motherfucker." He snarls.

"Shut up. Stop talking. I know. Ow. It hurts. I get it." Stiles says. "But be quiet or someone is going to call my dad, the sheriff, about someone breaking into the vet office."

"I'm sorry the wolfsbane infused arrow in my arm is inconveniencing you." Derek growls.

"Speaking of, how do I take it out?" Scott asks nervously. "I'm a vet assistant. I don't do the surgery."

"Put the gloves on." Derek says, strained. "It'll latch on to you and kill you otherwise. Then rip the arrow out. Set it on fire. Stiles, you'll have seconds to use the tweezers to pull out any stray splinters."

"I'm not okay with this plan." Stiles says, his voice ridiculously high pitched.

"Yeah. Me either." Scott says, looking pale.

Derek pants. "It's either this or I die."

"I think we should really consider the you dying option." Scott says. "I still think you're evil."

Derek's eyes flare blue. A curious part of Stiles thinks Derek's eyes are extremely beautiful. Like Christmas lights or bluebells. That sounds wrong. Likening Derek's eyes to flowers. Um. Blue icing? The terrified part of Stiles grabs Derek's arm and yells, "Just pull it out and set it on fire! I'll do it! Just keep your teeth to yourself!"

Derek is passed out in the Jeep's backseat when Stiles turns to Scott. "So. Silver Artemis is a werewolf hunter."

"Yup." Scott pops the p. "I'm not really ready to deal with that so I'm concentrating on Allison. She wanted to invite me to dinner tonight but since her dad and aunt got in a fight she wants to reschedule. Do you think I should get her flowers tomorrow? To cheer her up?"

The only girl experience Stiles has is his epic crush on Lydia Martin since the third grade. Stiles is adamant there will never be another girl out there for him. Except she's never looked at Stiles twice. Ever. No matter what he does. It's a very frustrating process. Stiles is not looking forward to reenacting his crush on Lydia with Derek, but Stiles' heart is a stupid thing and he hates it. So he'll do what he must and suffer in good cheer.

"Probably. Girls like flowers on TV." Stiles shrugs. "I would personally vote candy. Everyone loves candy. And chocolate is proven to make you slightly happier. Science says so."

"Candy and flowers." Scott decides. "You'll come with me tomorrow, right?"

“Duh.” Stiles scoffs.

From the backseat, Derek groans in terrible pain, “You two are killing my urge to live.”

Because Stiles and Scott are StilesandScott, they get up early to go to the grocery store. The cashier is still yawning and the place is deserted. To be fair, it is six a.m. They spend a half hour trying to remember if Allison has ever eaten a candy bar in front of them, and then Scott spends twenty after that trying to figure out which candy bar was more Allison. Stiles vetoing candy bars as seemed fitting. With a regular bar of Hershey's chocolate, they move on to flowers. Staring blankly at all of the types and colors, Scott makes the decision one of each can’t lead him wrong.

The total makes Stiles wince but Scott forks the cash over smiling. Stiles supposes love will do that to a person.

All in all, the trip takes an hour.

Making it seven a.m.

The school is trickling with teachers, club kids and band kids but otherwise they have an hour to kill. Naturally, the decorate Allison's locker with the flowers. Very artistically if Stiles does say so himself. What? His ADHD could be an enemy, but Stiles mostly liked to use it as an ally. Like decorating a locker in flowers.

"She's going to love it." Stiles smiles then quickly frowns. "Unless she has allergies. Then she might cry."

"Dude! Why did you have to say that?" Scott wails. "What am I going to do if she is?"

Stiles laughs unrepentant.

Scott's surprise doesn’t make Allison ask for Claritin. She squeals and throws herself at Scott. Stiles is sure if Scott has been a little less werewolf he would have dropped her; instead, he catches her and swings her around before setting her back on her feet. Stiles could be accused of watching on in envy because that looks like serious fun. Maybe if he asked Scott would pick him and spin him around like a pretty princess? Just once? Until Stiles threw up?

"Thank you!" Allison beams. "You're the best!"

Stiles preens slightly despite knowing he'll never get any of the credit. At least there was one girl in the world he could help impress. Who needed Lydia Martin?

Besides Stiles.

And Jackson.

And everyone in the world besides Scott and Allison.

Stiles is usually very attentive. Even chewing on a pen and flipping through a book he could recall the conversations around him. Badgering Derek through SMS however leaves him deaf. What? Stiles needs to know everything about werewolves right now, thank you. He's going to school with a teen wolf. This is paramount to Stiles' continued existence. Which he is always fond of. Somehow he misses the conversation and invitation he grunted assent to (because Derek is being an asshole about wolfsbane and silver bullets) about Scott, Allison, Lydia and Jackson double dating.

At the ruined Hale house.

Adrenaline whores. Every single one of them.

_Btw your house haunted?_ \-- S

_Yes_ \-- DH

"I'm not going." Stiles says firmly.

"You have to!" Scott says. "What if Derek tries something? Or I Iose control? Or the Alpha comes!"

"All good reasons to just go to the movies instead." Stiles insists. "Not visit a house where eight people were burned to death."

"But Allison wants to."

"Where Derek's family burned to death." Stiles repeats.

"And it's very sad and tragic. But Allison wants to." Scott emphasizes. "I don't. If you can change her mind, please do."

Two minutes into a conversation with Allison, Stiles understands the situation. It's not Allison that wants to go. It's her brand new, hard to please goddess of a best friend Lydia that wants to go.

"I should have known."

"Yeah." Allison sighs, tucking hair behind her ear. "Something about teaching Jackson a lesson?"

"That sounds like her." Stiles agrees. "Everyone knows Jackson hates horror movies. And surprises. Damn it."

"You're coming, right?" Allison asks hopefully. "It sounds... Really terrible actually. I think Scott and I could really do with the extra company." Smiling, she unleashes puppy eyes rivaled only by Scott's and Stiles can hear himself say yes when he wanted to say No. Nonononono. A thousand no's.

"Thank you!" Allison says and hugs him tightly.

Stiles is left in a daze of light perfume, watching Allison retreat in her red dress and orange scarf.

Wait.

What did he agree to?

Again?

The drive to the Hale house is foreboding. It curves and twists. There's fallen trees everywhere -- the trees are sad. How much more of an omen do you need? The road is cracked and broken with pot holes the size of the Jeep's tires.

And it's dark.

No light is making its way through the tree line whatsoever.

_Foreboding_.

The actual house isn't much of a wreck considering it was set on fire and eight people died in there. It mostly looks abandoned. Sad and lonely.

_Your house is sad_. He texts to Derek. _Also I am at your house. In case I go missing_.

_I'm going to bounce your head off your Jeep's steering wheel until you gain common sense_. Derek texts back. Wordy for him. But still just as mean.

Allison, Lydia and Jackson are already there. Allison is standing apart from the It couple, biting her lip and looking small. Scott immediately makes a wounded sound and goes to her side. Stiles gets it. Really. Allison is a smiler. She should always be happy. Lydia and Jackson --

Are being Lydia and Jackson.

Jackson is leaning against the driver's side, glaring and Lydia is doing the quiet mean voice girls get when they don't want everyone to look at them in horror and second hand embarrassment. Stiles can't make out her words exactly, but Jackson's glare is going straight into sneering. Scott winces and Stiles noticeably hides behind him and Allison as result. Anything that makes a werewolf wince equals bad news in Stiles' book.

"Fine." They all hear Lydia hiss. Could werecats be possible? Werefelines? Or would they be more specific and be like weretiger? Inquiring minds want to know!

Lydia strides towards them with a fake smile. "Jackson decided he'd rather act like a bitch. So he's staying with the car."

"Could we change venues possibly?" Stiles asks hopefully.

"No." She says sharply. "We're here. May as well continue."

"Yeah, Stiles. _No_." Scott says glumly.

Allison laughs lightly. Stiles despairs for his future.

The interior of the house just strikes Stiles as empty. Sheets are draped over what didn't burn, like the remaining Hales didn't have it in them to pack it all away. The floor is tile or marble or something in the front half of the house. Only cracks run through it to hint at something sinister. The house doesn't look too terrible.

If you ignore the splintered and charred wood and general smokiness of the place. The smoke--the fire, breathes of the last Hales-- is trapped in the wall. Gooseflesh is making the hair on Stiles' arms stand up and the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He wants to leave. Now.

"We're here. Let's go. Awesome visit to the haunted house." Stiles says.

"We have to investigate first." Lydia says practically. "We have to check the basement, the first floor and the second floor, or else there's no point."

"Don't you know investigation equals mutilation?" Stiles asks. "We need to hurry and leave."  
  
"We could split up?" Scott proposes uncertainly.

Stiles knows Scott is trying to be a good friend. Scott is a giver like that. Hence why he got attacked by a werewolf to save Stiles' life and possible humanness. Actions are Scott's thing. Thinking, not so much. He could. Don't get Stiles wrong. But on the fly, panic induced thinking Scott isn't great at. That's why they got chased by a pack of toy breed dogs at twelve. Satanic influences may have also been at play at the time.

Who knows in Beacon Hills?

"Great idea." Lydia visibly relaxes. "We'll check the basement and first floor. Stiles can check the second."

"Why doesn't Stiles get a plural?" Stiles asks.

"Are you sure? In the safety pamphlet it specifically mentioned never going by yourself. Splitting up was firmly in the don't column and underlined." Allison protests. She eyes Stiles. "I can handle myself. I'm really good with a knife. And mace. Both of which I have. I don't think Stiles has anything but his keys."

Lydia sighs heavily. "Fine. Give the damsel your knife and let's be on our way. It's cold."

Scott makes an aborted sound, but his eyebrows are high and he's starting at Lydia's short purple dress with pale pink tights. Her only concession to the cold a green scarf and matching gloves. Stiles smirks slightly. The dress is very uh, cute, and Stiles appreciates the view but it was not a sensible ensemble for stumbling around a haunted house. Allison was better dress in red skinny jeans and a dress looking orange sweater thing. It was kind of cute. Scott in his blue jeans and white hoodie to counter Allison. Like fire and wind. Or something. Stiles is most likely projecting because he's being sent to his literal doom.

He always knew Lydia would be behind his eventual murder.

Scott and Stiles stare at each other a little sadly and maybe a lot of dramatic, but definitely necessary. "I'll see you in fifteen minutes." Scott promises. "And shout if something happens. I'll hear you. Promise." Scott bites his lip, looking worried.

"I'll be fine." Stiles assures. They both ignore the maybe tacked along with that sentence.

"Is this really happening?" Lydia asks.

"I love you, dude." Scott says.

"I love you too, bro." Stiles says back.

They hug tightly and try recovering machismo with manly claps on the back. Stiles mockingly flicks a tear. Scott clutches his heart. "You two are ridiculous." Allison giggles.

Allison raises her leg to touch the top of her boot and she displays the knife she hid there. It was all black, hilt to tip. The edges certainly seem sharp in the dark. The length is about nine inches if Stiles had to guess. Nervous again, he takes the knife from her.

"So, we'll meet in ten minutes at the car?" Stiles says to confirm.

"Fifteen." Lydia says firmly. "Get your ass up the stairs before I lock you into a closet all night."

Stiles swallows hard. Each step on the staircase feels like a step closer to death. All kidding aside, Stiles thinks it's a real possibility he’ll die. If not from a ghost than from falling through the floor.

Upstairs is just like the downstairs.

A little less touched by fire but time certainly did her damage. There's copious amounts of spider webs and Stiles counts four bird nests so far. If he could actually see, because there was daylight and not just his phone light, Stiles is sure he'd find a squirrel or ten. Maybe a snake. And a baby deer. It's kind of comforting to see signs of animal life. Animals wouldn't be here if it was haunted, would they?

The second floor is huge. Five bedrooms, three bathrooms and four closets. Definitely no ghosts. He's standing in a room with a broken window. Rocks. Not fire caused. From the window he can see Jackson's car and his Jeep. No Allison, Scott or Lydia, but he figures if he creeps quietly, Lydia will never know he snuck out of the house early.

"Stiles."

"Oh my god!" Stiles shouts and whips around, knife heavy but ready to use in his hands. Holy fuck! "Derek?!"

Derek melts from the shadows, smirking. The asshole even looks a tiny bit amused. He's sitting on the mattress a bunch of animals have burrowed in, judging by the holes. His hands folded in his lap. Derek looks like he's been sitting there the whole time. He probably was. There's black boots, black jeans, black shirt and black leather. With that much black, it's little wonder Stiles missed Derek completely.

"You're a creepy fucker." Stiles scowls. His heart is beating so fast it could break his ribs.

Derek shrugs.

"What are you doing here?"

"Getting dirty mostly." Stiles retorts. "What are you doing here? Besides scaring poor teenagers to death."

"Mostly just that." Derek shrugs again.

Stiles instinctively takes a step back. Derek is too-- relaxed. In the few weeks they've known each other, Derek has been six feet of tense muscled anger. He's reminded of big cat specials on Animal Planet. Loose strength being put away, stored for future use.

"Derek," Stiles says nervously. "What are you doing here? In Beacon Hills?"

He can't believe they never thought to ask Derek that. Suddenly, it seems like the most important question in the world. Derek tilts his head, his eyes flaring blue. His eyes are so blue, they appear to glow in the darkness. Stiles swallows hard. Because that is not the correct response to a harmless question.

"Something happened to my sister." Derek says softly. "I came back for her."

"What was your sister doing?" Stiles asks.

"Laura-- she was just trying to understand." Derek says. Eyes intense, pinning Stiles in place. "Why a town my family has worked for decades to keep safe turned on us.

"Beacon Hills didn't always be like this. It used to be safe to walk down the streets at night. To sleep with your window open." Derek pushes up from the bed. "I've had uncles that died fighting Beacon Hills' monsters. Aunts. My grandmother. My older brother." Derek takes a steps forward, pressing into Stiles' bubble with his presence alone. "Beacon Hills sacrificed my family to keep her people safe. Then she burns the rest of my pack in this house." Derek looks around. "Laura was pissed about that.

"Do understand? How angry we are? We did nothing but good, and still we pay for it just because of one mindless beast in France three hundred years ago."

Stiles' back hits the broken window. Maybe Scott is right and Derek is a serial killer. The bus driver, video clerk, the janitor and those guys in the park all within the past month. Since Derek's been back.

"Derek. Who's your alpha?" Stiles asks. "You said you didn't bite Scott. You _swore_."

 "I didn't." Derek says, so close now they're breathing the same air. "I didn't arrive until the next morning." Pointedly ignoring Stiles' first question. "Laura flew. I drove."

"Derek. You're scaring me." Stiles whispers, mouth dry.

He's painfully aware that he's human and Derek is a werewolf. That Stiles is prey and that Derek is a predator. He's food.

"Good. You should be scared." Derek whispers, resting their foreheads together.

Stiles can hear the furious beating of his heart and thrum of his blood racing in his ears. Feel Derek's steady breathing against his face. The brush of air from eyelashes when Derek blinks. Almost sweet and innocent if not for the inhuman blue iris. This is it-- the moment Derek kills him or Stiles' uses his borrowed knife to -- do something to runaway. He'd be kidding himself if he thought he could hurt Derek in any way whatsoever.

His knife is hot in his hand and slippery with his sweat. He's readjusting his grip, Derek smirking slightly and eyes trailing down to Stiles' shaking hand.

A scream sounds.

Stiles jerks. His instincts so haywire. Everything in him not two seconds ago was screaming Derek was going to kill. Now he's jerking closer to Derek with the hope Derek will protect him from being eaten or gutted by someone else. Derek tuts.

"Don't worry. I'll protect you."

"Who's going to protect me from you?" Stiles asks. He's disgusted with himself. Way to throw his sensibility card out the window.

"That implies you want to be protected from me." Derek replies.

Stiles might have a problem. He could make an appearance on _Fatal Attractions_. He's unhealthy. He's attracted to a predator that likes scaring him and god help him because that does things to Stiles. Very good things. But also so bad. No matter how domesticated Derek may appear, how harmless he pretended to be, he's wild. A touch feral. Because Derek is telling the truth. Stiles doesn't want to be kept from Derek. Or protected. He wants Derek. As insane as it is. He feels so stupid. There's no way this wasn't going to end badly.

What age did mental illness usually crop up in? Maybe Stiles has early onset?

"Derek," he says, helplessly.

It's a fairy kiss. Barely a whisper. It feels like everything. Like Stiles is giving everything he has of value away. How can a brush lips feel like this? It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once. It's like he sold his soul in that kiss. He's shaking, trembling in nerves.

"Don't worry." Derek says. "I have you."

Another scream sounds.

This time Derek moves back, eyes devouring Stiles like they have mini fangs. Stiles feels fuzzy. Like the world is too big now that Derek isn't crowding him.

"It's your friends." Derek says, listening to something Stiles can't. "Looks like the Silver Artemis is going to be dead soon."

A shattering roar follows his statement.

"Scott!" Stiles surges forward, rushing to the stairs. Derek following at a sedated pace

At the top of the stairs, Stiles can see the archer dressed in her silver uniform and mask like a wannabe comic book heroine. She's trembling and her bow is broken in half. Allison is standing in front of Lydia, mace at the ready. Scott is in the middle of the action. He's standing in front of Sliver Artemis with that stupidly stubborn expression on his face, ready to defend her against a man in blue scrubs and a wildling of a woman.

"You can't kill her." Scott says hotly.

"She killed my family, little boy. You'll find that after that you're capable of anything." The woman snarls.

The woman looks familiar. Eerily so. Dark hair that is tangled and knotted and littered with leaves. Her body is pale, like moonlight is trapped under her skin waiting to burst out. She has no injuries or scars that Stiles can see. Her fingernails and toenails are long, definitely claws. It's her face, if he ignores the red eyes, that reminds him of--

"Laura came back first." Stiles repeats. "You knew who the alpha was."

The woman shifts her attention to Derek. She smirks. "Do you know what a beta's job is? He cleans up after the alpha. And Derek is a very good beta."

Derek brushes pass him. The side look surprisingly reassuring:  _I'll protect you._

"She's the last one, Laura." Derek says, sounding bored. "Hurry it up."

Laura clicks her tongue in disapproval. "Is that any way to speak to your elders?"

The man in scrubs has Silver Artemis' arms behind her back, mouth inches from her throat. "Derek." The man greets, his voice pleasant and polite.

"Uncle Peter." Derek greets back, eyes flicking to Stiles. _This is my family_ , his eyes say. Stiles is reminded of their conversation. Derek promised to take care of him. Protect him. Betas take care of the alpha. If Laura was biting people, turning them into werewolves, wouldn't Derek be obligated to look out for Scott and therefore Stiles?

"The last?" Scott echoes. "I knew you killed the others!" Scott adds too triumphant for the wrong answer. Stiles wants to bury his face in his hands from embarrassment, but they have to show a united front.

"I killed them." Laura says, rolling her ruby eyes. "Derek was too busy watching out for you, beta."

The way she said it was jealous, slightly furious. Stiles gets the impression he doesn't want to draw her attention to himself at all. If she was jealous of Scott, a baby werewolf she made, what would she think of him? Probably not much.

"Really, Scott?" Stiles hisses. "Not the time!"

"What the hell is going on here?" Lydia finally demands, _furious_. "Who did she kill? How these morons," She points helpfully at Scott and Stiles. "Involved? Are you some sort of cult, McCall?"

"Yes." Stiles answers the same time Scott says, "No."

Stiles doesn't really know how else to explain it then. Either they can come out and say, "Werewolves! We're mixed up in werewolf politics. But hey, it's not a cult. It's a _pack_." Or they can say, "We weren't being safe on the internet and got involved with a crazy cult lady and her family. Let's hope they don't kill us after they're finished avenging their family." Either way, they're going to sound insane. Like a lot insane.

So insane they might get sent to Radley Hospital.

So not looking good.

"Scott?" Allison asks, her face speaking for her confusion.

"I'm a werewolf." Scott announces.

Lydia begins laughing, almost hysterically and Stiles is a little worried for her. Allison blinks slowly. "And how long have you been a werewolf?"

"About a month." Scott admits. "Derek's my teacher."

"You mean like the last "werewolf?"" Allison asks wrinkling her nose.

"And while Derek might be your Yoda, Scott, Laura and Peter are your Emperor Palatine and Darth Vader." Stiles says, exasperated. "And they're holding someone who thinks she's Felicia Hardy hostage, threatening to rip her throat out. Priorities people."

"Jackson already called the police." Lydia says, offended and breathless from her brief loss of control. "I told him to when you screeched like a little girl earlier."

"I did not--" Stiles begins.

"Not the time." Derek says sedately.

The werewolf half of their party all twitch and fly into action.

But not literally because they are werewolves and not furies. No wings come with the werewolf play set. Scott tackles Peter to break his hold on Silver Artemis. Laura roars and rips Scott off her uncle with one hand. A very impressive show of strength. Scarily impressive. Allison acts quickly and pepper sprays Silver Artemis in the face. She screams and goes down. Derek catches Scott when Laura throws him and launches himself at Laura to subdue her. Lydia starts screaming, a piercing a sound that causes Peter to freeze in his retreat to clamp his hands around his ears and gives Stiles ample time to hit him over the head with a two by four. 

 A few times.

The sounds of car doors slamming shut and the flare of emergency vehicle lights is very comforting even if they were all a little late to the party.

Lydia stops screaming. "It took you long enough." She sneers to the first officer on site and then leaves the room on slightly unsteady feet.

"What the hell is going on?" Stiles' dad demands seconds later.

Stiles and Scott look at each other before firmly pointing at where Derek has a thrashing Laura pinned to the floor, "She did it."

A deputy helps Silver Artemis remove her mask to get rid of some of the pepper spray, and Allison gasps. "Aunt Kate?"

Wordlessly, Stiles and Scott point another accusing finger at Kate Argent. "She did it too."

Kate Argent is seen to in an ambulance. The paramedic washing her eyes out with some sort of fluid. Allison staring from where she's leaned against a squad car with Scott. Stiles figures learning your fun sister like aunt is a murdering weirdo who dressed in leather could do that to someone. Lydia was flirting, no other word for it, with one of his dad's younger deputies, shooting mean glares at Jackson when the deputy wasn't paying attention. Peter is being rushed to the hospital since before tonight he'd been a coma patient. Go figure. And Derek--

"Sir, I wasn't aware my sister was going to kill somebody until she did it." Derek droops his shoulders sadly. "I thought she was going to bring them to justice. Not rip them all apart."

Stiles could almost buy Derek is a dejected Boy Scout with nothing but the desires to follow the honor code and law if Stiles didn’t feel sticky from the fear Derek instilled in him when they’d been alone upstairs. He hopes his dad buys it. It’d be a little difficult to demand answers if Derek was in prison. Well. Maybe. It was only just up the hill.

"Son, no offense, but why would you think that?" Stiles' dad asks.  
  
"Prison lasts longer." Derek says, frowning. "My family was burned alive. Killing them all was a little too quick for my tastes."

Annnnd, no chance of Stiles speaking to Derek without bars.  
  
Or a chaperone.

“Laura admitted to killing everyone!” Stiles protests before his dad can get started in on Derek about why the legal system is about justice and fairness and not about punishing and torturing criminals because they took your loved ones away. Wait. Stiles may have lost his thought process here. Wasn’t that the point of prisons? To punish the assholes that killed eight members of your family? He frowns. “And everyone knows Kate Argent killed the Hales.”

Allison hisses in the background, “How could you?”

Laura begins to scream obscenities at Kate Argent, shaking the back of the police cruiser a little. Stiles edges a little closer to Derek because if the she-wolf escapes he wants to _survive_. Derek runs a reassuring hand down his back. 

“I would have gotten away with it too!” Kate shrieks from the back of the ambulance. “If it weren’t for the damn werewolves!”

“Werewolves?” His dad asks and nope. His dad missed that train. He doesn’t need to know.

“She’s crazy.” Stiles explains. “She’s convinced the Hales and Scott are werewolves and need to be put down.”

“That is a little crazy.” His dad agrees.

“That’s what I’m saying!”

His dad sighs, glances at the two women who are still screaming at each other, the teenagers that are all doing their best to appear innocent and not like they’ve been trespassing, and back to Stiles who is trying his best to make Derek look like a protector and not an accessory in multiple murders. “You all need to go to the station, so I can get your statements. And call your parents.” His dad rubs his eyes and sighs. “ _God_ , what a night.”

Stiles beams.

He’d call tonight a success.

…….

……

…..

….

…

..

. 

Epilogue:

“You want to call us what? _The Mystery Gang_?”


End file.
